


whatever the weather

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:22:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stevie's always been awful after losing matches. More awful than other people, which Carra knows for certain, because they've always sat next to each on the bus to away matches, and Stevie's fucking awful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever the weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imkerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin/gifts).



> because  
>   
> and i'm nothing if not suggestible

 

Stevie's always been awful after losing matches. More awful than other people, which Carra knows for certain, because they've always sat next to each on the bus to away matches, and Stevie's fucking awful. He doesn't speak, which is fine. Carra can deal with that. But sometimes he gets antsy and on edge and jiggles his leg the whole way and that's fine, too, because Carra knows him and what are best mates for if they can't suffer through bad ticks like that? If the team loses Stevie blames himself most. That's just how it is. Carra gets it, he has to, he's been with him every step of the way.

But sometimes Stevie gets- it was hard to say. When someone asks him a question he won't meet their eye when he answers. There's always a hint of a break in his voice when he answers too, although he would never cry. Not in front of the other lads, and not in front of Carra. Sometimes Carra wants to tell him it's fine, wants to make sure that Stevie knew if it came down to it, if he really cried then he wouldn't get ribbed about it, even if Carra wouldn't know the first thing to do if it actually happened.

They lose against Chelsea in the FA cup semis. Stevie'd missed a penalty and got subbed out at the 60th minute and it was all just a fucking mess. Carra would admit he hadn't had a great game either, but then again no one did. The whole team was fucking shite.

Stevie didn't get it. Carra elbows him when they're on the highway and the lights are off in the coach, the team subdued and quiet after the loss. Stevie had stomped right to the back and dropped his kit bag on the floor, glowering out of the window with his arms folded and radiating enough anger to keep other people at a distance. Carra doesn't take the hint and sits down beside him, shoves Stevie's leg a little to make space. Stevie grumbles, but only slightly.

“What're you thinking,” Carra asks, and jabs him in the side again. Stevie shrugs, face hidden in the shadows. Carra can only tell because of his arm moving.

“Can't stop thinking, mate,” Stevie mumbles finally. He's hunched over, fingers tapping at the windowsill distractedly. “Doin' me head in, to be honest.”

“Oi,” Carra says, putting a hand on his thigh. It was mostly reflex, trying to calm him down. “Stevie.”

“What?” Stevie says, and the break is loud and clear in his voice. They pass under another orange streetlight, the flash lighting up Stevie's face. He looked wrecked, eyes red rimmed.

“Just. Calm down, mate,” Carra says, uselessly. He squeezes Stevie's knee, thinking it should be reassuring. Stevie shifts, and their thighs press against each other. It felt different, suddenly, not just a casual touch like all the times before, and Carra hesitates. Stevie shifts again, and Carra moves his hand up Stevie's thigh, hesitant. It had happened once before. In the academy, messing around when they were just boys. They hadn't talked about it, both gruffly feigning ignorance at the entire experience.

“'ey, Carra,” Stevie whispers. There's 4 empty seats between them and Finns and Pepe, and the whole bus was dark, everyone asleep or with their headphones plugged in or both. Stevie's hand wraps around his wrist, other hand reaching for Carra's waistband.

Carra shoves his hand aside. Stevie stiffens, frozen, and the streetlights light up his face again, briefly, before they're plunged in the dark. Carra doesn't know how the hell this would help, except- except there was no other way to make Stevie know. Words don't do the job sometimes.

“C'mere,” he says instead, and Stevie shifts over slightly, hesitant. Carra gets a hand down his trousers and Stevie's hand clamps like a vice on Carra's arm, fingers digging in. Carra hasn't touched anyone's dick apart from his own for a fucking long time, but it was sort of the same, anyway. He works Stevie slow, and Stevie's biting his fist, muffling curses.

The lights flicker on, and he shares a brief second of terrified eye contact with Stevie before Stevie pulls his jacket from where he was sitting on it and folds it over his lap. The lads ahead are complaining about the brightness, and there's some mumbles of dissent.

“What's going on?” Carra calls to them, sticking his head out over the aisle. “We're not even close yet aren't we?”

“Hit the wrong button!” The driver says, cheerfully. The lights go out again, Pepe complaining vocally in the dark for a while before someone shushes him.

Carra turns back to Stevie. They're moving through a small town now, and he can see Stevie's face clearer, the lights no longer dull and orangey. Their eyes meet again, and Carra raises his eyebrows. Stevie cracks up, silently, punches him on the shoulder.

So it'd worked a little, despite everything.

He flips Stevie's jacket off his lap, and gets back to it, Stevie surprised into making a sound loud enough that it has Jamie swearing, “Keep _quiet_ , Gerrard, fuck's sake.” He pulls Stevie over, Stevie's head in the crook of his shoulder, and moves his hand faster.

“Shit,” Stevie mumbles against his neck. “I-”

“Shut up,” Carra says, presses him even closer with his free hand cupping the back of his head, his other hand trying to keep some sort of rhythm, even though they seem to be hitting every goddamn pothole in England, and the angle just isn't going to cut it. Stevie's mouthing wetly at his collarbone, his hands scrabbling up under Carra's shirt, palms so warm they felt scalding on his skin.

“Carra- I'm-” Stevie pants, and then he tenses up and comes.

He stays quiet after, for a bit, which was enough incentive for Carra to wrap his arms around him, and shut his eyes for a second. They're back on the freeway, orange light and the dark alternating on his eyelids. Stevie's breathing very quietly, huddled, and for now it was fine for Carra to hold him up. Then he pulls away and makes an embarrassed and mildly discomfited noise at the mess on his trousers.

Carra snorts. “Tie your jacket around your waist when we get off the coach, yeah.”

   Stevie mumbles something he doesn’t catch and leans against the window, sinking down in his seat. Carra wonders if it would get awkward at all, but Stevie lets his legs sprawl, taking up more than his share of the space, leaning lazily against Carra. He's asleep after a few minutes, and Carra tucks his jacket around Stevie more snugly.

   Stevie was frowning a little in his sleep, mouth slack, eyelids fluttering. Carra reaches up to check the air conditioning on the ceiling with the back of his hand, turning the dials away from Stevie. And then he settles down and shuts his eyes, comforted by the warmth at his side, the feeling that he'd done alright, and they were alright, maybe. Just till then.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (imk come to epl) 
> 
> thanks for reading <3


End file.
